I had talk with a girl, down at the pub,
A downtown chick, who had give me the snub,
She had such high standards, gold digger by trade,
But it was OK, because a promise was made.
The men promised to care, and she promised to love,
When the money ran out, she flew like a dove.
I asked her if she, would enter a trade,
For a million pounds, could sweet love be made?
She paused for second and acknowledged that she,
Could make a transaction, for this sum with me.
Then I explained her my plight, that the cupboard was bare,
Could she be enticed, with a promise to share?
Then she said no, what did I think,
That she could be had, with not even a drink.
A million pounds, or bowl full of rice,
I knew what she was, I just needed a price.
BardNSage....
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